The Wedding Toast
by MildredandBobbin
Summary: It's John and Mary's wedding reception and Sherlock is in attendance. John's happy, Mary's happy, Sherlock's happy. Everyone is happy. Borrowing from The Sign of Four.


Title: The Wedding Toast

Author: Mildredandbobbin

Rating: G

Pairing: John/Mary, Sherlock & John

Summary: It's John and Mary's wedding reception and Sherlock is in attendance. John's happy, Mary's happy, Sherlock's happy. Everyone is happy. Borrowing from The Sign of Four.

Author's note: Don't mind me, I'm just working through some feels from this morning's tweet from Sue Vertue. Not so much spoilery as wild jumping to conclusions. I didn't mean it to be angsty, but it could be angsty.

Some wording and concepts lifted from The Sign of Four by ACD.

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Bored. Tedious. Dull, meaningless societal ritual, spending far too much money impressing people who only noticed the free food anyway. He glared at the wrapped and beribboned wedding favour in front of his place setting (lilies? really?). Engraved shot glasses. Wonderful. Just what he always wanted.

Sherlock would have left already except he knew that would be an act of the 'Not Good' variety, one which would impact directly on John and cause him to make his 'disappointed' face. Also 'Not Good'. Particularly as he'd only started speaking to Sherlock two weeks ago. So no leaving, no. Still, how long did these tedious affairs go on for? Somehow serendipitously, Sherlock had, up until today, managed to avoid attending a wedding as an actual guest - gatecrashed some, yes, posed as a priest yes, but attend the whole tedious event as an actual guest? No. As best man? Well that was still a never. For once John had shown uncommonly good sense and selected a steady, reliable, _dull_ friend, one from the army, for that role, one who had managed to not only show up on time but also remember the rings.

Sensible. When John had handed him his invitation Sherlock had thought for a horrible moment that he was going to ask him to do the honours out of some misplaced display of sentiment. He hadn't. Fortunate, for the smooth running of the ceremony at least. It wasn't that Sherlock meant to be late, he'd just had an unexpected visit from a disgruntled former acquaintance. Thankfully he'd had a spare suit, although he had been looking forward to wearing the tuxedo.

Still, he'd arrived in time for the vows. John had managed not to make a total muck of it, and Mary had seemed more relieved than happy. Still. Sherlock supposed they made a reasonably satisfactory couple. John had certainly done worse in the past, and Mary at least had some sense about her. She appeared to be loyal to John and care for him in a way that Sherlock assumed significant others should care for people. John looked contented with her. Happy. Peaceful. He didn't get that 'I can't believe you just said that, I'm going to hurt you in your sleep' expression that he often did when he was around Sherlock.

Sherlock watched the bride and groom at the main table. They looked _cosy_. They had their heads together and they were giggling. John turned on his thousand watt beam and Mary returned it. Sherlock shuddered at the thought of the simple domesticity they would happily subject themselves to for the rest of their lives. "Tea? Mary?" John would say. "If you're putting the kettle on, sure," Mary would reply. And then they'd sit, and drink it, with a biscuit. Sherlock didn't know how John could stand it.

He was seated next to an empty seat where Greg Lestrade had been before he'd been called off on some emergency (he'd practically begged but Lestrade had been a prig about it and refused to let him come too) and Mike Stamford on the other side, nattering to his wife. Molly was on the opposite side of the table with her new boyfriend, someone suitably bland and unassuming - new teacher at Barts. Sherlock rolled his eyes and checked his watch. What was left? They'd married, eaten? Oh yes, the _de rigeur_ embarrassing speeches, a dance of some description and perhaps things would be thrown. There was supposed to be a cake too, wasn't there? How soon was it decent to leave?

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. It was the best man. Murray.

"Sherlock Holmes?"

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"We're going to do some speeches soon. Thought you might have some funny story to tell about John?"

"No."

"Oh. John said you wouldn't, but I thought he just didn't want you spilling the beans."

Sherlock sighed. "Very well. If I must."

The best man beamed gormlessly. "Smashing, that will be great. I'll let the MC know."

Sherlock leaned back in his chair and amused himself deducing the life stories of several of the other guests. People stood and spoke into a microphone and said insipidly pleasant things about John or Mary or both. Sherlock ignored it. Suddenly he realised someone had said his name and there was a pregnant silence as a flower girl stood next to him with the microphone. He raised an eyebrow and got to his feet, taking the microphone from the child, Mary's twelve year old niece.

"Apparently I'm supposed to tell an amusing anecdote. Probably something about how John would neglect previous girlfriends to help me solve a case." There were a few titters from the guests. "Or perhaps how he was kidnapped or shot at or drugged." He waved it away. "But I won't, it's all on his blog anyway." More laughter. He paused, considering his words before he continued. "John Watson is the most brave and loyal man I have ever known. For some reason he has tolerated my foibles and counted me as a friend. For that I am grateful." He turned towards the main table, looking at the bride. "Mary." She raised her eyebrows and waited, watching with her rather fine eyes. "Take care of him, as well as he deserves." He turned to the man at her side. John lifted his chin and held his gaze steadily. "John, I cannot congratulate you. No, don't look at me like that. Mary is one of the most charming women I have ever met, she has a decided genius and might even be useful in the work on occasion. But love is an emotional thing and whatever is emotional is opposed to logic and that is something I place above all else. I will never marry in case I become biased in my judgement." His mouth twisted into a smirk. "I only hope your judgement will survive the ordeal." He raised his glass. "John, Mary."

Sherlock kept his eyes on John as the other guests repeated the toast, and was surprised to see a particular softening in his expression, the same fond smile that John gave him when he had, on rare occasions, managed something 'A Bit Good'. John returned his gaze and raised his own glass in acknowledgement.

Sherlock handed the microphone back to the flower girl and took his seat. Some other well-meaning acquaintance of the bride stood and began babbling about how much she loved Mary. Old school chum, divorced, no children. Sherlock exhaled and glanced back towards the main table. He found John still watching him, his expression thoughtful. Sherlock quirked the corner of his mouth in a smile and John did the same in response before he looked away, back to Mary.

Sherlock plucked the place card from the silver and purple wrapped wedding favour. He turned it over in his fingers then, pocketing it, he got to his feet. He glanced once more towards the main table. John was smiling at Mary, a sunbeam smile that always made him look young. He didn't look up and he didn't notice as Sherlock slipped out of the reception room.

Sherlock hailed a cab. There was a box at Baker Street, carefully hidden so that not even Mycroft knew where it was kept. Once John had searched for it and failed. Sherlock hadn't touched it for over three years. Tonight seemed like the perfect occasion to get reacquainted.


End file.
